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Dead Confederate
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Dead Poetry
Lyricist：B. Senn
Composer：B. Senn
On this dead poets' day
We close our eyes as we pray
For all the hearts beyond absolve
Their marrow dry, their gold facade
A loss for words right from the start
For all the minds beyond our sway
In the dead poets' dark
They have torn out the heart of hearts
And filled the cavity with a cage
A swarm of lost, they set ablaze
The flourished fruit they will abate
A puerile plague that calls alarm
Ink fills the page
Words are erased
And lost in doubt, we carry out
Ink covers sheets
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Stone memories
That fade away and lost their place
On this dead poets' day
Corrosion pens a yellow page
And bleeds out rust to song
A choir loud that belt and balk
And simple truth transposed to waltz
Is nothing more then yesterday
I'll leave this life
If you'll bury me;
Please leave your heart
In my grave for thieves;
Fight or flight
I'll be relieved;
This place is
No place to be
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